


Paint the Target

by PhantomProducer



Series: A Call to Arms [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Body Paint, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, Edible Body Paint, Established Relationship, Established Steve Rogers/OC, F/M, Foreplay, Marvin Gaye music is the best for sexytimes, One Shot, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Thank Sam Wilson for Trouble Man, nah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 21:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7700269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomProducer/pseuds/PhantomProducer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holly Rogers had bought Steve the paints as a (partial) joke...now, a couple weeks after his birthday and their honeymoon, he wants to use them.<br/>Set after the FF.net story, <em>The Eleventh Hour</em> and before the events of <em>By First Light</em>. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint the Target

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I had another one in me. I've pretty much given up on shame by this point.  
> Minor backstory: in _The Eleventh Hour_ , Steve Rogers marries a girl named Holly. Their honeymoon, taking place in Ch 35, encompasses his birthday. Among the presents he gets, Holly manages to sneak in a special one, which was intended as a joke. However, Steve has other plans. Those plans take place a short time before the beginning events of _By First Light_ , near the end of July, 2015.  
> I own nothing of the MCU, just the OC, Holly Rogers (maiden name Martin). You can read about her relationship with Steve Rogers, and her experiences with the other Avengers over on FF.net under the same username I have here.

Holly stood on the fringes of the dining area, the drop cloth course against the bottoms of her feet. Glancing around at the room's set-up, she idly rubbed the inner bands of her wedding and engagement rings, the claddagh shifting up and down with the point of the other ring as she did so. At least the evening's activities were enough to place their quarters as totally off-limits for the rest of the team. They were just short of a physical "do not disturb" sign placed on the handle; the new base wasn't exactly the greatest for personal privacy. A sigh escaped her lips, her brown eyes dropping to the floor.  
  
“I can't believe I agreed to this,” she muttered, reaching up and twisting her hair again to make it sit in the clip better. It was due for a cut soon, the ends of it tickling her shoulders when down, but for the moment it would be enough to have them clipped up and out of the way. The situation she was about to be put in would be quite messy, and she didn't want her hair to get sticky and matted. From around the corner came Steve, padding in barefoot from the bedroom. The last items necessary for the evening were in hand and he set them up next to the other things. Noticing her sudden spring of reticence, he rolled his eyes playfully, the blue irises lighting up.  
  
“You bought the paints, you had to be expecting they would be used,” he pointed out mildly, smirking as she groaned aloud.  
  
“Yeah, but I didn't think...” she trailed off, casting a glance at the set-up on the table. It was true; she'd bought him the pack of edible body paints for his birthday. It had partially been done as a joke, playing off his belief that an artist could always do with more supplies, but she also wanted to see if he'd be open to using that kind of paint in the first place. A lot of interesting fantasies had floated through her mind, and she was curious as to how he would bring them to fruition. Now, a couple weeks after his birthday and their honeymoon, he definitely wanted to try them out. Each color was given its own little bowl, entire tubes emptied into them, and his new set of brushes sat to the side, ready to be used for the first time. It wasn't quite the scenario she'd pictured when he requested her to do it, having her strip down to her boyshort panties and covering herself with an old t-shirt. Pulling at the hem of it, she snorted under her breath. “Should've known better.”  
  
Steve sat down in a chair, rolling up the legs of his jeans slightly and shooting a glance at her.  
  
“Just look at it as helping me try a new medium,” he retorted, removing his shirt next. The fitted tee was folded and placed far away from the paint, and Holly let her gaze wander over him briefly. Seeing him that way, with mussed blond hair and his muscled torso and arms free, made the situation better, at least.  
  
“You have painted before,” she murmured carefully, head dipping in the direction of the private office. His travel easel was in there, as well as the myriad sketchbooks and pencils he normally worked with. When he wasn't busy fulfilling his Avenging duties, of course.  
  
“Yes, but not like this,” he told her, tipping his head to the side. Rising from the chair, he meandered over to her, palms resting along her sides for a moment. Bending closer, his voice dropped lower as fingers dipped beneath the shirt's material, dragging across the skin of her waist. “Not with your body as my canvas.”  
  
_Well, well, look how far you've come, Steven Rogers,_ Holly thought to herself as she raised herself up a little, meeting him in the middle for a kiss. _Not so shy and nervous now._  
  
“You sure you're going to be able to contain yourself, Mr. Artiste?” she teased, hands linking behind his back and pulling him closer. Straightening, he dipped his chin once, sniffing dramatically.  
  
“I am a consummate professional, and you know it.” He paused, letting his hands slide a little higher under the shirt she still wore. “Although, I will say that I am actually looking forward to removing the paint.”  
  
He licked his lips, punctuating the point. She snickered, understanding him perfectly.  
  
“Only time you can say that, huh?” she asked, her tone hushed and smooth.  
  
The smile he sported became a touch more feral. “Starting over on this project is just fine with me, if I have to do it.”  
  
Exhaling slowly, she watched as he took a few steps back, retreating to the table to make his choices.  
  
“Yeah, because you're not the canvas.”  
  
“Oh, I fully expect you to participate as well, doll.” He met her raised brows with one his own, a smarmy smirk stretching as he shook his head. He had removed his shirt for more than just keeping it clean, and his jeans would follow suit later. “Start brainstorming.”  
  
“Whatever I do won't look very good,” she warned him, reminding him once again of her lack of artistic prowess. Privately, she reckoned five-year-olds who did finger painting were on a higher level than her in that regard. There was no way she could compete with her school-trained husband. Still, he knew her, knew that he hadn't married a Monet-in-hiding.  
  
“Your opinion,” he replied, flicking his eyes at her quickly before returning to his task. “Art is supposed to evoke all kinds of feelings, sensations...and at least it will feel good.”  
  
“Hmm,” was her witty response, the provocative undertone hitting her hard. Narrowing her gaze slightly, a little chuckle bubbled up her throat. “When did you become such a Casanova, by the way?”  
  
“I didn't. I just know what I'm talking about,” he said, selecting a brush and a bowl to start working with. His lips curled into the half-smile that he wore like a champ, and that she adored. “It's easier when you know what you're doing.”  
  
She nodded, unable to refute that. “Truth.”  
  
For a few seconds, they both stood there in silence, drinking the sight of each other. Suddenly, Steve started, darting out to the living room for a moment and muttering how he'd forgotten something. About to ask what he was doing, Holly soon enough heard the strains of music floating through the air. The stereo started to pump out a Marvin Gaye playlist, and Holly had to stifle a giggle (Sam's influence on her husband's musical tastes had struck again, it seemed). Inwardly, she swore that she would lose composure completely if _Let's Get It On_ was one of tracks selected; there was no amount of sensuality or headiness that would allow her to get through it without laughing entirely, due purely to her opinion of it being overplayed. When Steve returned, she let out another breath or two as she looked at him. Nodding his head, his gaze flicked from her face to her shirt, the unspoken request clear. Slowly, her fingers curled around the hem of her shirt, the fabric rushing up with a whisper against her skin as she removed it and dropped it to the floor. Distracted for a minute or two by the view, Steve clumsily cleared his throat, the haziness on his face pushed down as he tucked the brush behind his ear. He strode forward, his palm resting over her stomach as he positioned her closer to the center of the drop cloth. Brashly, he slid it upward, cupping her bare breast. Her surprised gasp was met with a faux innocent expression as his thumb brushed over it, with him releasing it moments later. Upon plucking up the brush again, he got to work.  
  
The materials Steve was using weren't exactly like what he was used to working with, but he was making an admirable go of it. Combining strokes with his new brush set along with the ones provided with the paints, he manipulated the colors, spreading first an ivy design along her clavicle, with it trailing around and over to her shoulders. Flowering buds dotted the vines as they curled downward, blooming over her breasts. Her breath hitched as the bristles smoothly skittered over her nipples, along the swell of each one. Downward he went, something akin to a sunrise bursting on her belly as he traded colors back and forth. As he swiped idly at his face, a streak of yellow (pineapple flavored, she remembered) lined his cheekbone, drawing her attention.  
  
The mixture of lust and concentration on his face was captivating, as fascinating to see as whenever he was focused on a sketch—although, lust wasn't a major player in those instances. The artist that he was had to be put aside so often, it was a treat to see it burst out of its confines on the rare occasions that it could, the surety in his gaze and the creative spread of fingers and brushes across her skin enthralling. Wrapped up in the sensuality of the music, the feel of the tools at work under her husband's skillful grip, she closed her eyes and threaded a hand into his hair. Lower and lower he went, kneeling down and stopping just at the band of her panties. A thin, long line was traced with the chocolate flavored stuff as if to underscore how he would go no further. Impishly, though, he tucked away the brush and smeared some paint along her thighs, her legs nearly shaking as he cast a fast, voracious glance at her thin coverings. The big tease let the marks go untouched, untasted, and he met her blown-out gaze with his own as he licked his fingers clean instead.  
  
Of course, even though Steve claimed to be resilient, he did break a few times. An intentional dab of red on her lower lip, strawberry flavoring his kiss as his mouth moved over hers. A fleck of blue dropped at the join of her neck as he moved behind her, his tongue sweeping it up and his hand pressed firmly against her ribs, stopping short of her breast. The evidence of his arousal was obvious, pressing against her as he brought her back to him. Head tipping back, her hand covered his, tempted to bring his fingers up higher (or lower, for that matter), not caring in the slightest if they ruined his good work. However, he removed his palm from her after a few moments, regaining his composure and returning to painting. Shaky breaths poured out her nose, and she marveled at his self-control. And her own, too; how she hadn't just knocked the bowl and brush out of his hands and mounted him on the floor by that point was beyond her. The mental image had her curling her toes and clenching her fists at her sides, determinedly forcing herself not to act on it.  
  
Slow, spidery crawls of the brushes gliding along her spine made her shiver, soft bristles followed by the prickles of the harder ones. She turned her head, trying to glimpse what he was doing in vain. Catching her attempt, he tutted at her, tapping her chin and turning it forward. Her eyes rolled again, but she couldn't be bothered by it. Not when she could hear his grunts and hums of dissatisfaction, the wash of his body heat flowing over her as he bent down and licked an error off of her. The run of his tongue, the flat and point lapping at her, had burning tendrils pooling low on her. When he would finish, he started the sweet torture on the cleaned patch once more. Another shiver, and the flush clambered up as it had a few times before. She was grateful that he had turned up the air conditioning beforehand; she was certain that she would have sweated through the paint if he hadn't.  
  
Eventually, the slides of the brushes petered off, a final flourish dancing across her lower back, and Steve stepped away. Nodding once, he silently deemed the work to be finished, his pupils growing a little wider as he looked her over. Dropping the tools on the table, he reached for a wet cloth nearby and cleaned his hands. Green drops had joined the yellow streak on his face, as well as a smear of blue on his brow, but he took no notice of them. If she had to guess, Holly supposed he was enjoying the fruits of his labor (some areas in particular were lavished with attention). She resisted the urge to cover herself and cross her arms to hide her stomach by clasping one wrist behind her back, taking care not to smear the paint back there. When he finished cleaning his hands, he strode over to her again, hungry eyes devouring her with every step. With much of her skin decorated, he could not lay his hands anywhere but on the sides of her panties, and his visual appreciation continued.  
  
“Beautiful,” he murmured, hot, wet kisses laid upon the bare spots of her neck and shoulders after a few moments. “Every part.”  
  
Her lashes fluttered, dark eyes dropping a little. “If you say—”  
  
“Stop it.” The rebuke was mild, but he compacted it by squeezing his fingers, the cloth of her boyshorts shifting in his grasp. It was not done to hurt, but to emphasize his feelings. One palm came up, tilting her chin until she was looking him at him directly. His brow had furrowed, and he gave a minute head shake in denial. He did not want to hear her getting down on herself, not then. She gazed at him, shifting a shoulder after a few seconds.  
  
“Then you stop it,” was her demand, though it was said kindly. He was just as bad as her when it came to viewing his body positively; she could see it in his eyes sometimes. A part of him would always see the skinny, frail guy from all those years ago in the mirror, no matter how much he had been altered physically. Just like a tiny piece of her would find the fourteen-year-old with braces, acne, and extra weight around the middle in her reflection. She cupped his cheek, thumb sliding over the yellow streak still there. “You do the same thing, too.”  
  
His darkened gaze searched hers for a long time, unspoken thoughts and emotions passing between them. His chin inclined the barest fraction, and he breathed a sigh out through his nose.  
  
“Fair point,” he conceded, bussing her quickly before stepping back once more. Turning, he went back to the table, grabbing the cloth and finally swiping at his face. Soon, he was tossing it aside and reaching out for the object that he'd been waiting to use for awhile now. Holding it up, his lips quirked as he gently wiggled it.  
  
“Seriously?” she breathed, the nervousness of before returning in that moment. The camera had been sitting inconspicuously along with the bowls of paint, and so she knew that it would be used at some point. A part of her had hoped that it would be ignored, or forgotten, but it was clear that that was a vain hope. It was a sweet prolonging, but it was starting to grate on her. She didn't know how much longer her resolve would hold.  
  
“Hey, I don't want to forget this,” he told her, ignoring her mumbles about him having a nearly-perfect memory as it was. Instead, he took her hand in his, tugging her towards the far wall. He pulled out another chair from the dining set as well, guiding her to sit on the edge of it so as to not mar the design on her back. Kneeling before her (and wincing a little at the press of the jeans against him), he peered up at her, noting how she was biting her bottom lip. Taking a loose strand of her wavy hair, he tucked it behind her ear. Gently, he reassured her, “Nobody else will see them, I promise.”  
  
He meant it, and would keep it. Any pictures of his wife in such a way were for his eyes only. A territorial spark sped through him at the thought, the marked heat flooding swiftly. After a moment or two, she canted her head, forefinger extended and jabbing the air when she spoke.  
  
“I'm holding you to your word, Captain America,” she told him, and Steve solemnly crossed himself over his heart. Saluting her with two fingers, he backed up and waited until she nodded her permission to start, tucking himself discreetly as he shuffled. Though he was not as adept with a camera as he was with other things, he took delight in the modern one that they had. The digital interface was easy to use, and it made the task of taking photos so much simpler for him. Pressing down the shutter button, artificial clicks and whirs told him when he'd been successful. To Holly, he would ask her to try something every now and again, patient as she slowly got comfortable in front of the camera. Her poses finished after awhile, with her allowing him to take shots of her back, her hands propped against the wall and a coquettish grin thrown over her shoulder at him. When he was done, she held out a hand, flicking her fingers to persuade him to let her see. Taking the camera from him, she looked at the digital screen, tapping through the pictures one by one.  
  
They were tasteful, she'd given him that...even if it was awkward as hell to look at her nearly-nude body in such a way. He'd gone with a greenery motif, the sticky green apple paint highlighted and shadowed with piña colada and chocolate. Heat invaded her cheeks as she looked at them, at the detail he put into every stroke, working against the shortcomings of the paint to create something lovely. Granted, her skin was already working against it by that point; no matter how cool the room was, it was starting to run in places, but it still wasn't terrible. Her back was given no less attention; a trellis of climbing vines and flowers spanned across her shoulder blades and down her spine. A blot at the lowest point of her back caught her eye, and when she used the zoom function to look closer, she snorted.  
  
“You signed me?” she asked, looking back up at him. Sheepishly, Steve rolled back his shoulders, raffish smile somewhat distorting the otherwise apologetic nature of his expression.  
  
“Habit,” he excused himself. An unwilling chuckle came out of her then, and she passed the camera back, with him dutifully shutting it off and taking the memory card out. It would be stored elsewhere later, where it wouldn't be found easily. Leaning back against the table, he canted his head towards the leftover paint and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Your turn.”  
  
A dubious glance was shot at the bowls of paint, trailing up to him. “You sure?”  
  
Steve inclined his head, and pushed himself away from the table.  
  
“Yes. Give it a shot.” Standing in the center of the drop cloth, he stood at attention, ready for her to make the first move. Her gaze flicked from him to the paints again, and then she moved, striding toward the table with purpose. It was all he could do not to reach for her, pull her in and taste each flavor he had etched into her skin. He'd hovered at the edge while taking the photos, the arch of her back and the colorful march along her body tempting him as she changed from one pose to the next. Still, it wasn't all about him. Fair was fair, after all, and he had promised she would have her time with him. Resting his hands along the buckle of his belt, he witnessed her selecting the finest brush, eyes lighting up with intent. When next she examined the colors, he silently laughed as she hemmed and hawed over what was left. Finally, she took up the dark brown, the chocolate flavor not used as often as the others had been. Dipping the brush into it, she made her way over to him, gaze trailing over him once more as she took up his left hand. There, just below his wedding ring, she made small strokes with it, struggling to keep the brush steady as she went. Soon enough, she'd finished, the phrase _vena amoris_ stenciled across the back of his hand. Turning it towards himself to read it properly, he smirked and arched an eyebrow.  
  
“You're...writing on me?” he wondered, curious about her choice.  
  
“Words are just as evocative as pictures, sweetie,” she told him, a corner of her mouth turning up. She swirled the brush in the dark-colored paint again, making sure there was enough on it before she started. The bristles faintly tickled his skin as she began tracing the next word on his opposite wrist. Her eyes glimmered up at him from beneath her eyelashes, his breath catching. “I know how to use words.”  
  
And use them, she did. What she could not do with pictures, she was making up for with calligraphy. It wasn't as if she were going for a Shakespearean sonnet or anything. No, indeed, she preferred to keep it simple. The one on his hand literally translated to vein of love, and she explained how it purported the belief that a vein ran directly from that finger to the heart. _Shield_ decorated his right hand, _tough_ and _gentle_ on his forearms. _Strong_ and _steadfast_ stretched from bicep to shoulder on each side. On the inside of his wrist, she scrawled _Brooklyn_ , with him sporting a wry grin. His other wrist had two simple letters, _D.C._ and with it she was also smiling. Drops of misplaced paint found their way onto his body, her tongue coursing over him much as he had done with her, his head dropping back and moans rumbling in his chest when she hit a sensitive spot. Her light laps drove him crazy, drove straight down and heated him all over.  
  
The other colors were mixed in, the red used to inscribe _heart_ just above his own, with _soul_ following in blue at the center of his chest. Cheekily, she did attempt a single painting. She traced a star with her finger over his stomach, with him flinching and stuttering out a laugh as she did so. Each flutter of the brush tracing on his skin skittered over his body, small shivers pouring through him every now and again. Coming to the waistband of his jeans, she tucked the brush between her teeth, fumbling with the buckle briefly. Popping the button and slowly lowering the zipper, a hiss came out through his teeth as she pulled them down his legs. Dropping to her knees, Holly waited as he picked up one foot after the other, balling up the pants and tossing them away for him. From her position, she looked up at him, the unabashed hunger in his face doubling as a sly gleam danced across her irises. Raising herself up a little, she couldn't help but tease him as he did to her earlier. Only, she had decided to kick it up a notch. Taking the brush out of her mouth, she smiled up at Steve sweetly before nuzzling against the erection trapped under his boxer briefs, her hot breaths fanning over him. Bitten-off pants echoed in his throat, the sensation of it ending all too soon as she rose up and away. He was practically salivating as the march of letters bowed from hip to hip, _endurance_ proclaimed below his navel in her handwriting. _Artist_ topped one thigh, _soldier_ the other. _Captain_ trailed up his right side, _nerfherder_ the left (again, he tried to shy away when the bristles brushed along in those places, the words barely surviving his attempts to escape the tickling onslaught). For the last word, she persuaded him to kneel on the ground, allowing her to tilt his head and draw it out along the line of his neck.  
  
With the brushes and paints now fully set aside, she offered to take pictures as well, adhering to the same promise he'd made her earlier. Hers was done with her phone, snapping shots from several angles before she turned it around for him to see. Kneeling beside him, she bit her lip, observing his reactions as he slid his finger across the screen. Summations of him, of his character, literally covered him. The words weren't overly thick, but he could read them, understand what each one was. Well, all except for one.  
  
“What's this one? I can't quite see it properly,” he said, pointing at the word in question along his neck. It was the only one she didn't take a picture of, and he was curious about it. The small grin he had died away in the heat of the desire burning on her face, his hand dropping down. Without looking, she plucked the phone from his grasp, tossing it away and not caring where it landed. Fingers crested up the unpainted side of his neck, gathering into his hair and lightly tugging on the strands. Obeying, he allowed her to tip his head to the side and grant her access. Her tongue slid along, each letter swiped and sucked away, another moan ripping out of him as she went. Continuing up, she nipped at his earlobe, traced the shell before answering.  
  
“...Mine,” she breathed, her mouth branding him as much as the word did as she lapped up the last of it. With it went the last of his resolve, the simmering lust boiling over. His arms snaked around her, pulling her flush against his body, heavy pants wracking them both as her words mixed with his pictures. Skin against skin, the paints combined, flavors colliding as he dragged his mouth down across her shoulder.  
  
“Mine,” he repeated, nearly growling it as the sticky sweetness coated them all over. Gently, he bit down, her groans encouraging him further. Hips rocked against one another, unknowingly in time with the music that was still playing. Mouths found their way to each other, the tastes on their tongues joining and stoking the fire inside.  
  
“Get this paint off of me, Steven,” she demanded, the words spoken against his lips making them tingle. Leaning back, she guided his head down, the heat of his breath on her chest making her nipples peak.  
  
“Yes, ma'am,” he complied, getting straight to work, his fingers digging into her waist and marking her as no paint ever could.  
  
The music carried on, tongues and teeth swaying to the beat, mouths and hands tripping along with the lyrics. And as Steve finally took Holly, her legs wrapping around him, he slid in and out of her with the tempo, grunts and groans becoming a new melody. Her breathy moans echoed along with the backtrack, meeting his thrusts with strokes of her own and enveloping him deeply. It was a slow, hot, melting sweetness that drove them to the heights of pleasure and straight over the edge into ecstasy.  
  
Long after the haze of love-making wore away, and past the obscene amount of time they spent in the shower after that, Holly made a mental note to add more paint to the shopping list at some point in the future. It wouldn't do to let Steve run low on supplies, she mused naughtily to herself.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Vena Amoris_ -Latin; vein of love.  
> The Marvin Gaye song playing by the time the two finally "engage" is _Feel All My Love Inside_.  
>  I don't own it, nor do I own the single _Star Wars_ reference.  
>  Oh, man...Steve Rogers the artist...I'll take one of those, please.


End file.
